1 Jun 2012

the paths that i am led down are all imaginary
though i suspect no dream truly has an ending
but too much has happened, things cannot remain the same
our eyes must accustom themselves to strange lights
i wonder, how do hearts form their ghosts?
when can we let go of the guy wires that prop up our facades?
where the spirits of the dead gather, a hive of whispers
and i am imaginary, too, a passing shadow
easily slipping from the holograms we remember of childhood
the ghost who dreamed he was flesh and blood
trapped in the heart of a lover trying to forget

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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